


like sleep to the freezing

by magemegane



Category: Naruto
Genre: Chronic Illness, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magemegane/pseuds/magemegane
Summary: Orochimaru grows increasingly ill as his third vessel starts to fail. Kabuto temporarily alleviates his symptoms.





	like sleep to the freezing

**Author's Note:**

> some transparently self-indulgent tenderness I wrote in a few hours on a sick day

In the months leading up to the fourth body transfer, infections that would ordinarily pass in days settle comfortably into Orochimaru’s body, his antibodies seeming to flee like woodland creatures from a forest fire. And the sickness strikes just as fast: a spell of dizziness overtakes him as he is standing at a laboratory table, and just like that he is bedridden for one week, then two. A cold turns into the flu, which soon turns into pneumonia, no matter the steps Kabuto takes to extinguish its spread. (Sometimes it’s elderberry capsules or ginger in his tea, futile efforts to strengthen his immune system; sometimes it’s heavy doses of codeine for when Orochimaru cannot swallow without feeling a knife in his throat.)

The worst part, always, is the absurdity of the sickness. Kabuto is a medic by nature as well as trade, so he seems to view illness as an interesting challenge, a puzzle to be solved. Orochimaru views it as something cosmic, or even karmic. His powerlessness in the face of his mortal body’s failure feels like God’s cruel joke, a way of teaching him humility. Nothing could fill him with more wrath.

On one particularly feverish day, after he has taken his antibiotics, he watches as Kabuto pours more tea at his nightstand. He’s been refused more codeine, which he hates Kabuto a little for— _Best not to suppress the cough if we can avoid it, and besides, you shouldn’t depend too much on opiates_ , the medic told him, with infuriating patience and authority. Orochimaru struggles to take a full breath, hating the rattle in his lungs and the tightness in his chest. Just once he wishes Kabuto’s nigh impermeable immune system would fail him, to teach him an ounce of sympathy. _I’m just lucky_ is what he always says, and Orochimaru thinks, _You have no idea,_ enviously drinking in his youth and perfect health.

Kabuto spoons some honey into his tea, and Orochimaru says hoarsely, “I believe we’re past the efficacy of your little household remedies.” He clears his throat once, twice, several times. Coughs again.

The young man smiles indulgently. Orochimaru wants to hit him. “Maybe. But there’s no harm in soothing the irritation while we let the antibiotics do their job.”

“Oh, is soothing my irritation what you’re meant to be doing?”

“Yes, yes, you’re very funny.” He offers Orochimaru the cup of tea, steam rising up from its murky surface. “Drink up.”

Orochimaru does not take it. “I’m tired of lemon and ginger.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you should have said something before I started preparing it. I’ll make you some chamomile later. Or maybe hibiscus.”

“You find me petulant, do you, Kabuto?”

“I also find water wet,” he returns calmly, placing the cup back down on the tray and standing at Orochimaru’s bedside.

“I would kill any other subordinate for that kind of remark, you know,” Orochimaru says, though the threat is weakened by his lightheadedness and chills that no amount of blankets could alleviate.

Kabuto shrugs. “Go right ahead. And then in a few weeks’ time, everyone will be talking about how you died of pneumonia because you dispatched your medic in a tantrum. Not quite befitting a legendary shinobi, though, is it?”

“Enough,” Orochimaru snaps, weary. “I’m in no mood to argue.”

“Who’s arguing?” But he drops it in the next instant, asking, “Would you like me to take the tea tray and let you rest?”

If he had more pride—and he has a great deal—Orochimaru would dismiss Kabuto. But instead, after a short pause, he answers, “No.” And then: “Stay for a while, if you can make time in that rigorous schedule of yours.” It is difficult to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Kabuto’s reply, “I suppose I can make time,” is so obnoxious that Orochimaru briefly considers changing his mind. But then he draws closer, sits at the edge of the mattress near Orochimaru, and says, “Lean away from the pillow.” Orochimaru obliges, somewhat begrudgingly, and Kabuto begins rubbing at his back in slow circles, gently applying pressure with his palm. It’s no kind of cure for the fire blazing in his lungs, but his aching muscles welcome the temporary relief. “How is that?” Kabuto asks, a little more quietly.

Orochimaru sighs, leaning back into the contact. “As always,” he murmurs, voice still rough from coughing, “you know how to make up for being so quarrelsome.”

“I don’t appreciate that,” Kabuto says, but he continues massaging Orochimaru’s back. “I only ever talk back to defend myself, Orochimaru-sama.”

“I don’t _care_ what you appreciate,” Orochimaru replies, acerbic. “You’re quarrelsome. That isn’t something to be contested, no matter your reasons.”

“Fair enough.” His right hand moves in circular motions between Orochimaru’s shoulder blades, glides slowly down his back, then back up again. He massages the area between his neck and shoulders, pressing down to relieve the tension, and Orochimaru exhales the deepest breath he has managed to draw in ages. “That feels good?”

“Yes, obviously.” But there is less open hostility in his voice now, and more resignation. “I don’t suppose you’re using your shōsen jutsu.”

Kabuto chuckles, and Orochimaru feels a strange warmth he cannot attribute entirely to fever. “No, I think that would be cheating, Orochimaru-sama.”

“I’m glad for the additional confirmation that all this is just a game to you.”

“You should know it’s anything but.” And Orochimaru might be imagining it, but he thinks he can hear the faintest undercurrent of disappointment in Kabuto’s voice. A sort of _Oh, come now_. It’s strangely endearing.

Seized by a sudden, half-delirious whim, he demands, “Come into bed with me, Kabuto.”

The hand on his back pauses. Orochimaru can almost hear the gears turning in Kabuto’s brain as he deliberates. “With all due respect, Orochimaru-sama, you might still be contagious. We can’t both be out of commission.”

“So go slip into a surgical mask, if you’re so worried. Or I’ll just face away from you.” When he glances aside and still sees Kabuto hesitating, he says, “I’m not asking, Kabuto.”

The corners of Kabuto’s mouth turn upwards, just slightly. “Some would consider that harassment, Orochimaru-sama,” he says, tone serious.

“ _Please_ shut up, for once in your life.”

With a soft laugh, Kabuto finally acquiesces, sliding off his shoes before joining Orochimaru in bed.  The two lie down, Orochimaru turning onto his side as Kabuto settles in behind him. The duvet forming a barrier between their bodies, Kabuto slides his arms around Orochimaru’s torso and presses close; Orochimaru sighs at the warmth against his back. And promptly issues another cough, his body convulsing once. But Kabuto holds him secure, chastising in a murmur, “You ought to be keeping your head elevated.”

“I believe I just told you to shut up.”

Kabuto hums a quiet _mm_ in agreement. “You did.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

Warm lips brush against his neck, just behind his ear, and he shivers. “Not so long as I’ve resolved to please you.”

“If you wanted to please me, you’d be more amenable.”

Moving to free one of his hands, Kabuto caresses Orochimaru’s upper arm through the thin fabric of his pajama shirt, rubbing gently. His fingers curl beneath the fabric of Orochimaru’s sleeve, and Orochimaru’s breath catches as nails graze his skin. All at once he feels so much warmer. “I think we both know that’s not true,” Kabuto says, his voice low.

“Kabuto,” Orochimaru breathes. The arm beneath him shifts, and Kabuto’s other hand slips under his shirt, fingertips ghosting along his stomach and making him shiver once more. Orochimaru watches the flickering of the candles on the wall, the room filling with the sounds of their breathing and the rustling of fabric. Kabuto’s hand drifts lower, and a wordless, pleading sound escapes Orochimaru. Their bodies move together, pressing as close as possible through the blanket dividing them. Their intimacy is as easy as breathing—easier. For just a few minutes, the laboring of Orochimaru’s lungs becomes something unconscious, his mind awash with pure sensation as he moans Kabuto’s name and Kabuto whispers back, _I know. I know_. His body writhing, for once surrendering to something other than chronic pain or fatigue, Orochimaru throws his head back against Kabuto’s shoulder and lets go.

When it is over, Kabuto holds him fast as he trembles, breathing ragged. Kabuto places a hand atop his chest, just beneath his collarbone, and massages gently with a _shh_. In his peripheral vision, Orochimaru sees a soft turquoise glow, and whispers, “I thought you said that was cheating.”

“Well, if it keeps you off a ventilator, so be it.” And indeed, as Kabuto’s chakra eases its way into his infected lungs, by placebo or otherwise, breathing becomes a little easier.

Orochimaru chuckles quietly, and he closes his eyes, a satisfied exhaustion settling into his bones. “You’re going to kill me one day, Kabuto.”

“Rest” is Kabuto’s whispered response. He decides to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Hozier's "Cherry Wine" - fun fact, this wasn't supposed to have any sex in it but I made the tactical error of having his discography on while I wrote. Andrew Hozier-Byrne said h*rny rights
> 
> as always, comments & kudos appreciated!!!


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